


The Original Bar Joke

by deathbycoldopen



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining, Alcohol, Angst and Humor, Bad Jokes, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, Fluff and Angst, Footnotes, Jealous!Crowley, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Canon, Requited Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-05-14 11:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathbycoldopen/pseuds/deathbycoldopen
Summary: The way Crowley saw things, it was all one big joke, with him as the punchline.ORAn angel and a demon walk into the Garden…





	1. Practising What (Sins) You Preach

**Author's Note:**

> My first Good Omens fic! I read the book ages ago and loved it, but the TV series was the real inspiration for this fic. It lands somewhere between book!canon and TV!canon.

The way Crowley saw things, it was all one big joke, with him as the punchline.

Of course, self-centred indignation at the unfairness of the universe was expected of him— he was a _demon_ after all.Being a bit of a narcissistic wanker fell in line with his other demon-y habits, like always leaving the seat up in unisex toilets and parking diagonally across two spaces.But given that this joke had been running for over six thousand years, through the snoozefest that was the fourteenth century, his extended nap in the nineteenth, and the actual _Apocalypse_ , he felt a little frustration was justified.Denizen of Hell or not.

The joke began like this:

_An angel and a demon walk into the Garden…_

Presumably, he was still the butt of the joke because _somebody_ found it oh-so hilarious to watch him, an unholy demon, pine after an angel for six bloody thousand years.An angel who loved Crowley much the way he loved everything— that is to say, no more or less than your average first edition Wilde, or a ’69 Domaine Leroy Chambertin Grand Cru, or the Daily Telegraph crossword.In fact, Aziraphale probably loved Crowley considerably less than a rare first edition, because he had never run his fingers down Crowley’s spine the way he did with even the least of his books, no matter how often Crowley hinted he might be amenable.

It was the kind of bad joke Crowley might have tried to take credit for, if Down Below had still been keeping track of that sort of thing.The kind of bad joke that probably had more to do with the Other Side’s terrible sense of humour, the humour that resulted in Noah’s arc and communion wafers[1]. At this point, he was prepared to lay the whole thing at the Almighty’s feet as Her fault, since it seemed in the same vein of humour as getting everyone all worked up about Armageddon only to slip the rug out from under them all at the last minute.

* * *

 

_An angel and a demon walk into a bar…_

Aziraphale had been muttering a steady stream of _oh dears_ under his breath for the past ten minutes, like someone’s fussy great-aunt.Crowley ignored this.He knew that if he’d cared to listen carefully, he would have heard a similar stream of _oh dears_ coming from the angel since before the Earth was created, just at a lower volume.[2]No point in listening to it now.

Crowley held the door open for Aziraphale, purely to enjoy his flustered expression and wringing hands.“Relax, angel,” he drawled.He nearly put an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders but restrained himself.A gesture like that would likely backfire on him anyway.The line between teasing and taking advantage was a little too thin for Crowley’s tastes.“I let you drag me to the opera with the dead prostitute[3], and now I need a drink.Or seven.”

The bar was, admittedly, below even Crowley’s usual standards.He liked to visit some neighbourhood dives every now and again, but this establishment had crossed the line dividing “charmingly dirty” and “reminiscent of the sulphuric pits of Hell” some time ago and had refused to look back.He avoided visiting anywhere that reminded him of Hell as a rule, and normally wouldn’t even dream of dragging an angel through this muck.

It was just that… that’s what everything had been.Normal, that is.As if the past eleven years had been some kind of collective fever dream.The humans, of course, had shrugged off all the odd occurrences still lingering in their memories as overactive imaginations, gas leaks, and hallucinations.But Aziraphale…

The thing was, the day after the Apocawon’t had been— well, perfect wasn’t really the word, not when Crowley and Aziraphale’s respective superiors had tried to wipe them both from existence.Perfect was nevertheless the word that kept nudging at Crowley’s mind when he was distracted.Giving the proverbial finger to those bastards Upstairs; hearing Aziraphale giggle like a schoolboy about asking for a rubber duck; dining at the Ritz with just the two of them, no Heaven or Hell looking over their shoulders, no end of the world looming, and Aziraphale smiling with that look in his eyes that Crowley thought meant that he— and they—

And then nothing came of it.Everything back to normal.Aziraphale went back to his newly restored bookshop, Crowley to the oppressively modernist flat in Mayfair that still smelled faintly of dissolved demon.Aziraphale had called him up after a week— a _week_ , barely a blip on the eternal radar and yet somehow _infinite_ and _lonely_ — to invite him to the opera, and Crowley was the desperate, needy sap who said _yes_.

Aziraphale had yet to crack a smile in his direction all night.

So yeah, Crowley had found the seediest bar in the area with the vague idea to make Aziraphale squirm, but maybe a little bit to remind himself that while _he_ might belong in shit holes like this, Aziraphale most certainly did not.

Aziraphale sat primly on a sticky stool and frowned disapprovingly at the dirty bar, which obligingly cleared itself enough for the angel to lean against it.The bartender did a double take.There were only three other patrons in the bar on a Saturday night, probably the biggest rush the bartender had seen all week.

“Really, my dear,” Aziraphale said, accepting a glass of wine with a heartfelt smile.The bartender looked a little dazed.“We could have just gone back to the bookshop.I have a rather nice ’85 Château Lynch Bages—”

“We’re here to _drink_ , not swirl wine around and snort it to find the tannins or whatever.”Crowley bared his teeth at the bartender and downed four shots of bottom shelf tequila while maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with the human.The man’s hand shook as he refilled the shots, spilling Jose Cuervo on the already damp bench.“What I’m doing would probably scandalise your poor Château Lynch Bages,” Crowley continued, toasting his next shot in Aziraphale’s general direction.

“You could at least have some standards for your hard liquor,” Aziraphale said, wrinkling his nose at the smell of rubbing alcohol emanating from the shot glasses.

“Bottom shelf alcohol is one of mine, why shouldn’t I drink it?”

“It was not, and usually you don’t.”

The damn angel was right, of course.Normally Crowley wouldn’t get within a hundred feet of piss like this, regardless of who came up with the idea— but Heaven if he didn’t need something a little less _normal_.

“I do so drink it.Just not when you’re around being all— angelic.”

“I’m always angelic.”

“You know what I mean.Judge-y.Holier-than-thou-oh-unholy-demon.”

Crowley ordered another round.The first eight were starting to get to him in woozy waves.

“’S not bad,” he lied.“Better than what we used to get back when— back _before_ , when the humans’s all new to everything.They’ve really figured things out, haven’t they?”

“Not in places like this.”

“’S an _experience_ , angel,” Crowley insisted.“The whole thing we saved the world for, _experiences_.Bloody human thing to do, getting drunk on cheap tequila.”

Aziraphale considered this for a moment.He had that frown on that meant he agreed with Crowley but was too busy keeping up appearances to admit it.“Well,” he said eventually.“When you put it that way.”

He gestured at the bartender and looked only mildly uneasy at the prospect of four shots of bottom shelf.“To humanity,” he said, toasting toward Crowley.

Crowley swallowed the hot lump burning its way through his throat.“Humanity,” he said, and tossed back the next shot.It tasted significantly better than the Cuervo he’d been drinking, but maybe it was best not to ruin the moment pointing that out.

Aziraphale made a face as he swallowed the tequila.“That’s disgusting,” he said.“Another then?”

He looked so out of place, with his back ramrod straight and his perfect cream-coloured jacket and his velvet waistcoat and his tartan bloody-awful bowtie.He tossed back a tequila shot with the ease of someone who once knew how to ride a bicycle, even if they were called velocipedes back then, and he’d be damned if he would let a little thing like lack of practice get in the way of doing it again.

The lump in Crowley’s throat got bigger and threw a party for its friends.

It was— it was that _thing_ again.That feeling like a medieval torture device strapped to his chest and _squeezing_.Like the moment when he walked into a blazing bookstore and Aziraphale was _gone_ , dead for all he knew, like the moment he realised he might never, _never_ see him again, never tease him for his terrible fashion, never see that burnished gold smile or hear him say _my dear_ in that gently exasperated voice.It was—

And it wasn’t even _just that_ , just the bookshop and the fire and all that, the terror of have Hell after him and the world ending and his world already ended because Aziraphale was _gone_.It was that pain piling on top of hurt after they fought, after Aziraphale said they weren’t _friends_ when _friends_ wasn’t even enough for Crowley, after Aziraphale refused to run away with him not once but _twice_.All of that, all at once, crowding in Crowley’s throat and squeezing his chest and shaking in his hands.

It had all worked out, of course it had.They were both here with their own bodies, the end of the world nowhere in sight, their bosses scared shitless of them, with alcohol and Queen and the Bentley and the bookshop, none of which would have been in Alpha Centauri if they’d gone _but still_.

“Give a fellow a chance to catch up, would you?” Aziraphale said grumpily.

Crowley looked down in surprise.He’d already finished this round and was starting on the next before Aziraphale had even taken his third shot.

_You go too fast for me._

Aziraphale frowned at him.“Are you quite alright, my dear?”

“Better than ever,” Crowley said, baring his teeth in a smile.Well, aside from the dryness in his throat and the weight on his chest and the fact that the room was beginning to spin— hopefully not literally, although one could never be sure when one was a drunk supernatural entity.

Aziraphale’s concerned frown didn’t budge an inch.“You’re not,” he insisted.“Something is bothering you.I’m an angel, Crowley, I can tell when someone is distressed.”

“There it isss,” Crowley muttered— hissed— to himself.That angelic ego, all that heavenly love distributed oh-so-evenly over all of creation.

“There what is?I can’t help you if you won’t—”

“Your _mom_ is distresssssed.”

The twelve shots of tequila were _maybe_ starting to get to him.[4]

“Really, dear boy, I was only asking—”

“Your _butt_ is dissss—”

And that was when everything went from _maybe he’d had a little too much_ to _oh shit, he wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this_.Because a human sat down directly next to Aziraphale.

Demons, on the whole, were encouraged to be jealous, petty creatures.Jealousy was intrinsically linked to envy, naturally, and it was healthy to practise the sins one preached[5]. Crowley may not have been particularly good at the more bloodthirsty aspects of his job, but he excelled at petty jealousy.Mostly concerning one warm-hearted, oblivious angel.He took a certain amount of pride in working up a good jealous lather in an instant, and in his ability to make everyone around him incredibly uncomfortable with only a few choice words.

Of course, he’d had very few occasions to unleash these skills.Humans often approached Crowley with lecherous intent, only to find themselves backing away in obvious unease— his form was attractive, it was part of the job description for Evil to be seductive.But Aziraphale rarely, if ever, invited that sort of attention.Not that he wasn’t _attractive_ , by human standards, with his— and those blue— with that—Whatever.The point was, Aziraphale always gave off an aura of _kindly uncle_ rather than _fuck me daddy_ [6], and tended to dress like an 80-year-old librarian who was overly fond of tartan besides.

Except apparently, this particular human was actually into the 80-year-old librarian vibe, and looked Aziraphale up and down appreciatively.Crowley stared at him, a growl building in the back of his throat like a common hellhound.

“Alright?” the man said, ignoring Crowley completely and focusing all his puny, human attention on an angel of the lord.“Haven’t seen you in here before.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, startling.He gave the man an uncertain smile.“Hello— yes, I mean no, I’ve not been here before.”

“Are you lost then?” the man asked with a smirk.“Heaven is a long way from here.”

Crowley choked on cheap tequila.[7]Aziraphale didn’t notice him coughing next to him, possibly because he was squawking like a flustered parrot.

“H-heaven?Goodness me!” Aziraphale stammered.“Whatever do you— I mean to say, that isn’t— I run a bookshop nearby,” he finished, rather desperately.“Rare and antique books, it’s not too far, just around the— but well, you see, I made a deal with my, er, friend here— not a-a _deal_ , deal, just a- an _arrangement_ — oh, not that I would— just a matter of- of convenience, really—”

The man laughed like Aziraphale had just told the funniest joke in the world.Of course, it wasn’t really the funniest joke in the world.Just the oldest.

_An angel and a demon walk into a bar…_

The growl rumbled a little louder down from Crowley’s throat and into his chest.How dare he- how _dare_ this sodding _human_ laugh at the black hole that was slowly devouring Crowley whole, how _dare he_ put the moves on an _angel_ and then laugh at the demon _dying_ right next to them—

“A _zir_ aphaleeeee,” Crowley slurred, some of the growl ending up on his tongue and tripping it.He had somehow ended up standing on his own two feet, but he had the vague sense that wouldn’t last for long.He pitched forward to sling his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders instead.Better to stand on an angel’s two feet than his own, that’s what he always— and if it meant he could— Aziraphale always smelled so nice, bleeding  _heavenly_ was what it was.Stupid humans didn’t _deserve_ to experience that.

Neither did a demon, but he was _allowed_ anyway.

Crowley leaned forward to rest his forehead against Aziraphale’s temple.“Let’ssssss get out of here, angel,” he tried to purr in his ear.It ended up more of a hiss than he’d like, but Aziraphale shivered anyway.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale said.“It’s one of those days[8], is it?”He stood, causing Crowley to sway dangerously toward the sticky floor, but he caught Crowley around the waist before he ruined his black on black clothes.Crowley maybe sort of a little bit _possibly_ went limp intentionally, so that Aziraphale had to tighten his grip, and Crowley could feel the warm line of him all the way down his side.

“Sorry, I’d better get him home,” Aziraphale told the stupid human.Crowley glanced over his shoulder as Aziraphale manhandled him out the door.The stupid human at least looked gratifyingly put out.

Crowley let his sunglasses slide ever so slightly down his nose, met the human’s eyes over the frames, and smirked the way only a demon could do.The man startled and paled.Crowley’s smirk widened, and he let Aziraphale lead him out the door.

“Really, Crowley,” Aziraphale was muttering when he brought his full attention back to the lovely sensation of being half-carried.Maybe he should transform into a snake, and loop himself over Aziraphale’s preternaturally warm shoulders— “We’d only been there for ten minutes.”

“Thought it wassssn’t your— mmmph.”Crowley’s limp neck rolled his mouth directly onto Aziraphale’s linty jacket.He forced his unwilling muscles to shift him to a more audible position, which obviously meant as close to Aziraphale’s ear as possible.“Your ssscene,” he finished.

Aziraphale flinched.“Please don’t hiss directly in my ear,” he said crossly.

“‘m I hisssing?”

“Sibilantly.”

“Shit.”

“Language, dear.”

“Fuck you.”With an effort, Crowley remembered the point.“But anywayssss, _anyways_ , you didn’t even wanna go.To the place.The thing.Thought it wasn’t your scene.”

With his head resting on Aziraphale’s shoulder, he could feel exactly when it tensed.“Well, not my _scene_ , exactly— that is to say, not an _experience_ I’m too keen on, as it were, but the company was—”

The company.The _company_.The stupid, _simpering_ human with his rubbish pick up lines and his _humanity_ —

“Crowley?Are you alright?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Crowley spat.He shook off Aziraphale’s supporting arm and managed to stay more or less upright.“I’m over six thoussand years old, angel, I can _walk—_ ”He barely managed to avoid undermining his point when ground tried to tilt underneath him.

“We’re here, anyway,” Aziraphale said, managing to sound annoyed, amused, and put upon all at once.He gestured, and the doors to the bookshop that Crowley hadn’t noticed in all his drunken indignation opened for them.“In you get, my dear.”

_An angel and a demon walk into a bookshop…_

Bugger that.Crowley slumped on Aziraphale’s couch and miracled himself a bottle of wine.He drank straight from the bottle, ignoring the glass Aziraphale hurriedly held out in offering as soon as he saw what was in Crowley’s hand.

Aziraphale fixed him with a look he was too drunk to read.“You’re not fine,” he said.“Whatever is the matter?I haven’t seen you this morose since, well…”

He didn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t need to.His eyes darted around the miraculously intact bookshop, because the last time he’d seen Crowley like this was— of course, of _course_ — when Crowley was slumped over a pub table and sobbing about losing his best friend, the bookshop up in flames, and the end of the world.Because of course the bastard had to witness what Crowley had thought was a _private_ rock bottom.

Crowley gathered himself as best he could and waved a dismissive hand.It hit a pile of books and knocked them to the floor.Oops.“S’fine,” he said airily.“Not _morose_.Just having some fun.Celebrating, even.Not the end of the world, and all that.”

Aziraphale still looked worried.The stupid human and his stupid smile and his stupid pick up line flashed through Crowley’s head again, the wanker.How _dare_ a bloody human make Aziraphale worry?That was—

“Have you ever had sex?” Crowley blurted.

Aziraphale blinked owlishly at him.The question obviously startled him, since angels didn’t generally blink.It couldn’t possibly have startled him as much as it startled _Crowley_ , though, who had no idea where the question came from but was not _burning_ to know the answer.

“Well?” Crowley barked when Aziraphale didn’t say a word for two entire seconds.“ _Have_ you?”

“I-I-I, er,” Aziraphale stammered.“Well, you see— you see, it’s not a matter of— not that it’s any of your business, er, but I did— that is.”

All the air seemed to have gone out of the room, not that Crowley usually bothered with breathing, but the fact of the matter was the vacuum was nearly dragging his lungs out through his mouth.

“It wasn’t—” Aziraphale continued, as if he couldn’t see that Crowley was currently _turning inside out_ rather painfully in front of him.“I balanced it against her happiness, of course— you see, that- that wouldn’t be— it wasn’t really _sex_ , per se, I mean, that would just be Lust, and of course that’s a sin[9], so I—”

 _A sin_.

“You’re ssssssssuch an _angel_ ,” Crowley hissed.He was on his feet again, when had that happened?He pointed the bottle of wine accusingly at Aziraphale.“Who cares— who _cares_ what’s a sin anymore? _Nobody_ , that’ssss who.Mr. Nobody cares, and that’s it.There aren’t _minders_ anymore, aren’t there, nobody ticking off the big list of- of _Lust_ and _Gluttony_ and _Envy_ , that was the whole bloody point, wasn’t it?We can do whatever we want now angel—”

“Crowley—”

“Ohh, but of course, that’s just me, right?” Crowley said, bowling right past Aziraphale’s alarmed expression and his confused tone.“The _demon_.That’s what we demons do, _whatever we want_ , right, that’s why we’re down in the pits while you lot play your bloody harps, even when there isn’t anyone keeping score— You’re all, _oh look at me I’m an angel,_ with the sacrificing, and the rules, and the— the— Not that an _angel_ would ever want—”

He lifted the wine bottle and downed half of it in one gulp.It lifted off his lips with a wet pop.“And that’s another thing,” he said.“It’s not even— it’s not even about that human, alright?That human is just a-a blip on the cosmic radar, lifespan of a fruit fly, that one has.Not that I even— what was he even _doing_ , what would he even _want_ with a-a-a great aunt, hm?I wouldn’t—”

One of his gesticulating hands hit a bookcase with the sound of shattering glass and something wet splashing all over his hand and the books and the floor.He stopped mid-word to stare at it— was that blood?Was he _bleeding_?Did Adam make him bleed blood like a— like a bloody _human_?

Oh— no, it was wine.He’d smashed the wine bottle.Damn.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the wine disappeared, along with the broken glass.“Crowley,” he said.“What on _Earth_ is wrong?”

Crowley barked a laugh.  Shit. _Shit_.“Nothing!” he shouted.“Nothing on Earth is wrong, that’s the whole bloody point, innit?Everything’s all back to normal, just the way it was, not a hair out of place, might as well have never _happened_!”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said quietly.“Is— is that so terrible?That things are back to normal?”

“Of course it’s terrible!” Crowley nearly screamed.“After we— after I— But _fine_ , you know what, angel, you were right before.I’m a demon, you’re an angel, and we really don’t— don’t have anything in common, do we?Why even bother pretending?Let’s go back to normal, let’s— let’s have an _Arrangement_ , you don’t need to be my friend, we’ll just see each other every few hundred years or so—”

“Crowley, what?That’s not—”

“Bugger this, I'm through,” Crowley snapped.“See you next century, Aziraphale.I can’t do this anymore.”

He had just barely the presence of mind to find the door in the maze of books, and storm out on the angel sputtering behind him.

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

1 Crowley wasn’t positive that Heaven had come up with communion wafers, but _he_ certainly hadn’t even if he did take credit for them.Forcing humans to choke down stale slivers of bread-adjacent styrofoam every week was definitely the Other Side’s style, and also a perfect instance of everyone else doing Crowley’s job for him. [ ▲ ]

2 Audible only to great-aunts over the age of eighty and cups of tea that were left to grow cold on bright summer days. [ ▲ ]

3 Crowley cried. [ ▲ ]

4 Even after 6000 years, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had figured out how much alcohol it took to get them drunk.Some days all it took were a few sips of well-aged scotch.Other days they could drink their way through an entire tavern without feeling a thing.Today was one of the former, though since it isn’t possible for a demon to die of alcohol poisoning, it’s a moot point. [ ▲ ]

5 Unless, of course, said demon was leading by example by demonstrating Hypocrisy. [ ▲ ]

6. Daddy kinks were a purely human invention, ones Crowley stayed away from at all costs lest Hell decided he’d actually had something to do with it all, and gave him a bloody commendation for them. [ ▲ ]

7 On something, anyway.Technically, he didn’t need to breathe, so it didn’t matter whether he swallowed or inhaled the aolcohol.It would hit the bloodstream fine either way. [ ▲ ]

8 The truth was that alcohol hit Crowley and Aziraphale much the same way as hypnotism or placebos affected humans— that is to say, like a freight train smashing into their heads provided they were already emotionally vulnerable.Given that both of them thought vulnerability was something the respective Other Sides made up, and therefore treated with the utmost suspicion, neither of them were likely to figure this out any time soon. [ ▲ ]

9 This was, in fact, a point of contention within the Heavenly ranks.The general consensus was that sex was certainly necessary for the human race to continue, but nobody seemed to know whether the enjoyment of sex for sex’s sake was in the Almighty’s black books or not.Eventually, it was put out that Lust was generally Bad, just to be extra safe.Nobody _wanted_ to be tossed into a lake of sulphur just for an assumption, after all. [ ▲ ]

 


	2. The Trouble with Landline Telephones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley makes life harder for himself for no reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got too long, so I'm splitting it in two (if you've read any of my other fic, you're probably used to that by now).
> 
> Enjoy Crowley being an idiot!

The trouble with storming off and leaving his only friend behind was that things _had_ changed.Hell wasn’t looking over his shoulder any more, or requesting memos, or giving him commendations for things he had no hand in but took credit for anyway.Before the world didn’t end, he’d had a _job_ to do, keeping him busy sowing discontent and spreading mayhem; now, he was effectively unemployed, friendless, and _bored_.

It just wasn’t the same anymore.Slowing down the internet and breaking traffic lights at major intersections was all well and good— or rather, well and bad— but it seemed to have lost something.A spark of appeal, of fulfillment.[10]At least if he had Aziraphale, then he could take satisfaction in irritating the angel and his blessed _morality_.

If he had Aziraphale.But that was the point: he’d never _had_ Aziraphale, and he never would.

Without his job and his— _someone’s_ angel, it seemed that all he had were his bloody plants.And there were only so many hours of the day that he could spend terrorising them before it became counterproductive.[11]He’d already had to dispose of a fiddle-leaf fig that had died of fright two days after his row with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, he was sure, was getting on just fine without him.The angel had his books, his hobby of keeping customers from actually buying any books, his decadent meals, his cocoa, his ridiculous magic act— his _everything_ that Aziraphale had and Crowley didn’t.Aziraphale hadn’t even called him in the two weeks since Crowley stormed out.It just proved that Crowley was right about all this after all.Aziraphale didn’t need Crowley, and certainly deserved better than a clingy demon hanging around, pitifully trying to get an angel to care about him.The angel’s eternal life was barely impacted by Crowley leaving him behind, _going too fast for him_ , yet again.

Crowley’s landline rang two weeks after he last saw Aziraphale, exact down to the minute.

He didn’t move from where he lounged listlessly on his uncomfortable throne.He ought to throw the damn thing out— the landline, not the throne.Although, he didn’t care for the throne much either, bought it on a whim because he was bored and it was there.But the landline definitely.There were only two parties who called his landline: telemarketers trying to sell him double glazed windows, and Aziraphale.As much as he would miss making the telemarketers’ lives miserable, it would be worth it to lose out on the latter.

The phone rang out, and the antique answering machine clicked on.Crowley rolled his head on his limp neck.Telemarketers didn’t leave a voicemail.Which meant…

He waited for the inevitable moment when Aziraphale would start talking before the outgoing message began, because he never remembered to let it play out.Except this time, nobody said a word except for Crowley’s voice lazily instructing the caller to _do it with style_.

An exhale, staticky on the ancient speakers.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice finally broke through the silence.“Pick up the phone, please?”Another shaky breath, too loud in the silent flat.“I know you’re there— or, I hope you’re there, and you haven’t just packed up and left.I like to think that you wouldn’t, not after everything, but…”He trailed off.Crowley looked back up at the ceiling and swallowed.

“Look,” Aziraphale continued, “I thought I would give you some space, as they say, but it’s been two weeks, and it’s— well, I know that two weeks is nothing compared to how long we’ve let it go in the past, but I can’t help but wonder if maybe giving you space wasn’t what you really needed.Even if you did say— but there, I’ve reached out now, so if you could just—”Aziraphale paused.When he spoke again, his voice was sharp and cross.“Pick up the phone, would you?I’d rather not yammer into this dratted machine all day.”

Crowley manifested some gum and popped it noisily.His effort at appearing nonchalant was ineffective, as Aziraphale couldn’t see or hear him appearing nonchalant.[12]

“You’re being ridiculous, you know,” Aziraphale said.“If you would just tell me what was the matter— Right.We need to talk, and if you’re not going to answer your phone, we’ll just have to meet.St. James’ tomorrow at 2pm, the usual spot.If I don’t see you there, I’ll— look, just come.Please.I’ll— I’ll see you then.Goodbye.”

The recording clicked.The flat quieted once more.

Crowley sat perfectly still for a long, indeterminable amount of time.[13]He forgot about the gum in his mouth, and it obligingly disappeared.

Eventually, he stirred.Reached one long-fingered hand toward the answering machine.Pressed the play button.

_Crowley.Pick up the phone, please?I know you’re there—_

Aziraphale sounded upset.Did he sound upset?Maybe another real estate goon had visited him, and he’d been forced to gently nudge the human away from his bookshop.Aziraphale always hated when that happened.That would explain why he sounded upset.

Actually.He didn’t sound upset at all, did he?More angry than anything else.Angry with Crowley?

_I’d rather not yammer into this dratted machine all day._

Definitely angry.Well, Crowley was a demon after all, it was literally in the job description to make angels angry.Even if he didn’t technically have the job anymore.Sod it all.

_I thought I would give you some space, as they say, but it’s been two weeks._

Two weeks wasn’t long enough for two eternal beings to miss each other.It was a blink of an eye.A sneeze.A— a fart.Nothing.And if Crowley missed Aziraphale, well, that was only because he was a pathetic, _fallen_ , desperate demon.The point— the point _was_ , Aziraphale didn’t miss him.Obviously.Wouldn’t miss him, probably.And certainly not after two sodding weeks.

 _If I don’t see you there, I’ll— look, just come.Please,_ Aziraphale said for the fourth— or was it fifth?— time.[14]

Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad.Going back to normal.Surely having Aziraphale as a— as a friend, as whatever it was they’d had before the world went to shit, surely that was better than this.Sitting on his uncomfortable, ludicrously expensive chair, staring at a stain on his ceiling and wondering if that was residue from melting demon, and pining for an angel who couldn’t return his feelings.He’d still be pining either way, but if he met Aziraphale tomorrow, at least he could be miserable with him rather than without.

Aziraphale did sound upset.Upset about Crowley, even.That hadn’t been the point of this at all.Aziraphale wasn’t supposed to mind that Crowley buggered off.He’d never minded before. _Pushed_ Crowley away, in fact.

_Crowley.Pick up the phone, please?I know you’re there—_

Nope, no, nein, niet, non, uh-uh, _no_.He couldn’t do it. _Couldn’t_.Not after begging— _begging_ — Aziraphale to run away with him, _twice_.Not after getting rejected both times.

He knew exactly how this would go if he met Aziraphale tomorrow.He’d saunter up to their usual bench, and Aziraphale would give him a pitying smile, say _My dear boy, I’m sorry you expected things would change, but of course I couldn’t possibly_ —

Bugger that.

_I hope you’re there, and you haven’t just packed up and left.I like to think that you wouldn’t, not after everything, but…_

After everything?Six thousand years and Crowley was still going too fast for the angel.But— Aziraphale stood up to Heaven and Hell with him.Aziraphale went to Hell in Crowley’s skin to _save_ his skin, and wasn’t that better than running away with him, looking over their shoulders for the rest of their eternal lives?Maybe Aziraphale just needed time.He had always moved rather slowly, forever stuck fifty years ago and making little effort to catch up.Maybe after another fifty years Aziraphale would admit that he’d helped saved the world for Crowley’s sake, not just the sake of his bookshop and regency snuffboxes.Crowley could be patient for Aziraphale.

_I can’t help but wonder if maybe giving you space wasn’t what you really needed.Even if you did say—_

The tape in the answering machine was starting to degrade from the number of times Crowley had played the message and rewound the tape.Aziraphale’s voice had taken on a stuttering quality, but Crowley hardly noticed.He knew the message by heart by now, anyway.

He was also halfway through a bottle of rum at this point, so there was that.

He sprawled onto the cool concrete floor, drank another quarter of the bottle, and tried to look at it all objectively.

Aziraphale was too good for him, of course.Because— well, angel, demon, that whole, er, thing.Not that Crowley was living up to the job title at the moment, but the point was.Was. _Was_.

Jokes, that was it.The joke, the bloody awful joke that had him lying on a concrete floor in a horribly uncomfortable flat— he was a serpent, for someone’s sake, he needed warmth and concrete was _cold_ — while Aziraphale’s message played on a loop but the angel wasn’t here, _wasn’t here_ —

Well, that was it, wasn’t it.It was Crowley’s lot in eternity, to Fall, and to fall.Probably not Aziraphale’s fault, that.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

 

At 1:53pm, Crowley stood at the door to his flat.He’d sobered up ten minuted ago, winced at the mess, and miracled away the evidence of his binge drinking.He couldn’t quite remember what he’d decided after completely wearing through the voicemail tape.Which meant he had to decide _again_.

“ _Fuck_!” he shouted at any etherial or occult beings who might be entertaining themselves by watching the pathetic demon Crowley.A rustle told him the plants were listening too, and appropriately terrified at his outburst.

It was a six minute drive from his flat to St. James’.Crowley made it in three, with four minutes to spare to park illegally, stare darkly at his steering wheel, stalk over to the usual bench, miracle himself some breadcrumbs, and start pelting the ducks with him.He made a game out of it.Duck, duck, _bullseye_.

“Really, my dear?”

Crowley didn’t look up.The duck he’d just blinded popped out of the water with nothing to show for its trials except a few ruffled feathers.It flew away promptly, following the lead of the more seasoned ducks who knew better than to hang around when the demon was in a Mood.

“I didn’t think you’d be spreading any more wiles,” Aziraphale said hesitantly.“Not now that you’re not working for- for _downstairs_ anymore.”

Crowley scoffed.Of course _this_ was the topic Aziraphale wanted to bring up after two weeks.This was worse than the pitying smile he’d anticipated.“And how many miracles have you done since your former bosses tried to kill you with hellfire?” he asked.

He heard Aziraphale shift in his seat, but kept his eyes fixed on the water.“Well, that’s _quite_ different,” Aziraphale said haughtily.“Nobody can say anything against spreading some _good_ in the world, regardless of my employment status.I am still an angel.”

“And I’m still a demon,” Crowley drawled.The words stuck in his throat, but he got them out without too much effort.“So that’s that.Everything just as it always has been, apparently.”

“But—” Aziraphale began.He took a breath that he absolutely didn’t need.“Isn’t that what you wanted?For everything to go back to normal?”

Crowley whipped around to stare at the angel before he remembered he was trying to be aloof.Bollocks.“Normal?” he said in a strangled voice.

Aziraphale startled at his sudden movement.His eyes searched Crowley’s face uncertainly.“Normal— that is to say, no war, no Heaven and Hell looking over our every move?Just, you know, the two of us.Our own side, as you said.Wasn’t that— didn’t you want that?”

Crowley sat back against the bench and shrugged, turning his face away so that Aziraphale couldn’t read whatever was in his expression.Somehow, even with hiding behind the sunglasses, he felt exposed.

“Sure,” he said.

Aziraphale hesitated again.Crowley could physically feel it next to him, that sort of restrained politeness that drove Crowley up the wall.

“Oh, spit it out, will you,” he snapped eventually.

“I wasn’t— I mean, is it— do you—”

“ _What_ , angel?”

Aziraphale drew himself up a little huffily, but his voice was unsure when he spoke.“Do you— do you not want to be friends anymore?”

Over a hundred and fifty years ago, they’d stood in this very park, and Aziraphale called it _fraternising._ Only two weeks ago, Aziraphale had said something even worse.

“I thought we weren’t friends anyway,” Crowley said in as casual a tone as he could manage.“That’s what you said, wasn’t it?That you don’t even like me?”

“Come now, you know very well I didn’t mean it,” Aziraphale said.“I was acting the coward.Haven’t I more than made up for that, what with saving the world with you, or— or when I—”

“When you refused to go to Alpha Centauri with me?” Crowley muttered.

Bugger.He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Aziraphale was silent for a moment.“Ah,” he sighed eventually.

Crowley squirmed in his seat and looked anywhere but at the angel.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said gently— too gently, didn’t he know that he was talking to a _demon_?“I didn’t _not_ want to go with you, you know.There were just— other factors.”

“More important things, you mean?”

That was just it, wasn’t it?Crowley didn’t have anything in his eternal life more important than Aziraphale.When he’d thought Aziraphale was dead— well, there was no reason to run away from the end of the world if Aziraphale wasn’t with him, was there.But Aziraphale, he had all those other things.All the silly little reasons Crowley used to get him to help save the world in the first place.

“That isn’t—”

“Do you know why _I_ wanted to stop Armageddon, angel?” Crowley asked, looking at him over the top of his sunglasses.“You do know, don’t you?”

Aziraphale inhaled sharply.He twisted his hands in his lap, his eyes darting everywhere except to meet Crowley’s eyes.“I— of course I do,” he mumbled.[15]

If Aziraphale had actually been looking at Crowley, he would have seen the demon’s face spasm in pain.As it was, he had a rather nice view of a tourist family stumbling through a clandestine meeting between a nervous American agent and a stoic man with a strong Russian accent.

Crowley swallowed and schooled his expression.“Right,” he said.

They sat in awkward silence for a long moment.

He sometimes forgot.Angels could literally sense love.Aziraphale must have known how Crowley felt even before Crowley understood it.And said nothing about it, just like he was saying nothing now.

Maybe that was better.It was all out in the open now, but without having to hear the rejection directly from the angel’s mouth.And… the thing of it was, Crowley had spent six thousand years knowing exactly what the score was, and trailed after Aziraphale anyway.It was only because he was an idiot who got his hopes up that the rejection stung more.

Sitting next to him now, it was clear that the distance Crowley had put between them had hurt Aziraphale.They were, after all, friends.Aziraphale cared about him, even if it wasn’t in the way that Crowley wanted.He couldn’t hurt Aziraphale, regardless of how good his reasons were to stay away.[16]

So that was that.He just had to make sure he never had the urge to be hopeful, never read anything in Aziraphale’s warm smiles or lingering touches, because they _didn’t_ mean anything, and pretending they did apparently lead to disaster.

Crowley sighed.“Alright, you win,” he grumbled.“I’m being ridiculous.Didn’t mean to turn it into a _thing_ , you know.Just got carried away.Doing the— it’s what my lot does, isn’t it, sowing discontent and all that.It’s hard to break the habit.”

Aziraphale finally looked at him.He frowned, a confused and curious light in his eyes, but he let it lie.“Quite,” he murmured.

Crowley clapped his hands on his knees loudly, startling a pigeon too dumb to follow the ducks’ lead in staying away from a demon.“Well then,” he said.“Now that’s settled, how about a late lunch?”

Aziraphale lit up in a smile.“The Ritz, as usual?”

Crowley smirked.“Back to normal, angel.”

_An angel and a demon walk into the Ritz…_

Crowley’s smile froze on his face as he followed the angel onto the path.Bugger.He was thinking about it again.Maybe back to normal would be harder than he’d thought.

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

10In fact, it was quite the opposite of fulfilling when Crowley tried to sow some discontent on internet forums only to find that it took ten minutes to load a single webpage.Seeds of his own destruction indeed. [ ▲ ]

11Not to mention depressing.A little terror permeating the flat was quite lovely on a gloomy afternoon; too much felt a little too much like Hell to be at all comforting. [ ▲ ]

12Aziraphale did, however, sense vaguely that someone somewhere was being irritating at him.He was just too preoccupied with his voicemail to put two and two together. [ ▲ ]

13Time tends to lose all meaning when one is an eternal being, or when one is deep in denial.Coincidentally, Crowley was both. [ ▲ ]

14It was the seventh time Crowley had played the message, point of fact.The plants in the next room were starting to tire of hearing it, even if they were too terrified to say anything— if plants could say anything at all, that is. [ ▲ ]

15Or rather, he supposed he did.Six thousand years of friendship was long enough to get to know Crowley at least a little, and Aziraphale knew that the demon was far more soft hearted than he let on.It just went to reason that he wouldn’t want the world and all the life on it going to, well, Hell. [ ▲ ]

16Not that he quite remembered what those reasons were.This was probably less because of Aziraphale’s presence and more because Crowley had been less than sober when he decided it.At the time, his reasoning had made perfect sense, but should any sober person have heard it, they would only have understood three garbled words: “Not,” “Good,” and “Enough.” [ ▲ ]

 

 


	3. It's Not That Funny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley continues to be an Idiot, but this time it works out in his favour.

It all went to Hell eventually[17], because Crowley was a demon, and demons were, as a whole, masochists.Something about self punishment for the Fall, blah blah— point was, Crowley had the whole mess with Aziraphale stuck in his teeth, and could no more keep from picking at it than he could drive the speed limit.[18]

Especially not when the angel was _humouring_ him.

Pitying, more like.Because Aziraphale was, down to his very atoms, kind and empathetic.Oh, he could be a bit of a prat sometimes, and took far too much pleasure in some of the more deadly sins— Gluttony, Pride, Envy— for it to count as _divine_ kindness, but still.He was an angel who couldn’t just fix a witch’s bicycle for her after getting hit by the Bentley.He had to give it gears and a tartan basket and a bell that cheered up anyone who heard it, probably.He wasn’t satisfied just _fixing_ things; he had to make them _better_.

Which was why, Crowley was sure, Aziraphale had made an effort to see Crowley every sodding day for a week.And normally, Crowley would be ecstatic.Over the bloody moon about it.Except that Aziraphale was only doing it to make up for unreciprocated feelings, as if anything could ever make up for that.

_An angel and a demon walk into the Tate…_

_An angel and a demon walk into the opera…_

_An angel and a demon walk into Hyde Park…_

_An angel and a demon walk into an artisan cafe that only serves one type of sandwich and one type of coffee and does it rudely at that…_

_An angel and a demon walk into a bookshop…_

It had been a long afternoon of heckling tourists at Trafalgar Square (Crowley) and giving them directions and long history lessons (Aziraphale).[19]Crowley had already been a little drunk on spending the whole day with Aziraphale when the angel suggested a nightcap; and then a nightcap turned into a bottle of some rather nice scotch, and one of Aziraphale’s better Rieslings, and— well.By this point, Crowley should have realised that nothing good came out of getting pissed with Aziraphale, but even if demons were all masochists, they weren’t naturally inclined to self reflection, and Crowley was worse at it than most.

Currently, he was too busy snorting into his scotch to philosophise anyway.

“—because if they flew over the bay, they’d be _bagels_!” Aziraphale said triumphantly.

Crowley guffawed.“That one’s tired,” he drawled, his head lolling back against the couch cushion.“Not even a good bad joke, that one.”

Aziraphale slumped over the desk to lean his head on his hand.“It’s a _bad_ joke, ’s the point,” he pointed out.“That’s what the— the bloke said. _Bad_ bad joke, makes it funny.”

“Alright, how about this one,” Crowley said.“Why’re there gates around cemeteries?”

“I expect to keep out grave robbers—”

“Because people are _dying_ to get in, geddit?”

Aziraphale paused with his mouth open, then, with the air of someone not used to finding much of anything very funny, burst into startled laughter.

He glowed a little when he laughed.Like his divine joy was too much to be contained in his corporeal form.

Crowley gulped his drink to keep from blurting out something he’d regret.

“Oh— oh, I’ve got one,” Aziraphale said, still laughing.“What did the blanket say as it fell of the bed?Oh—”He paused to giggle.“Oh _sheet_!”

The room spun a bit as a laugh bowled Crowley over his knees.“You— you _cursed_!” he cackled.

“I did _not_ , it’s the joke that it’s not cursing, it’s a—”

“Oh _sheet_ — _sheet_ — shit—”

Crowley barely righted himself before he tumbled onto the ground in laughter and spilled this _damn good_ scotch all over the terrible carpet.“Okay, okay,” he giggled.“How about— imagine if Americans switched from pounds to kilograms overnight. There would be mass confusion!”

Aziraphale hunched over himself, his feet actually lifting off the ground from the force of his hysterics.“Ma-a-ass con-confusion—” he gasped.

“ Why did the scarecrow win an award? He was outstanding in his field!”

A fresh wave of laughter glowed around Aziraphale.Crowley was feeling distinctly light-headed now, and he didn’t technically need to breathe so it _couldn’t_ have been from a lack of oxygen.

“I’m thinking about removing my spine,” Crowley chortled at Aziraphale.“I feel like it’s only holding me back.”

That earned him a groan that quickly turned back into more hysterics.“Wait— wait, I have one, I have—”Aziraphale put his hand on his chest, not quite holding back the laughter but calming it enough to speak.“Where did the king keep his armies? Up his sleevies!”

“Booooooo,” Crowley shouted, still laughing.“Whaddaya call a fish with no eyes?A fshhhhhhhhhsssssssss-ss-ss-ss—”The joke devolved into a hissing laugh.He tried to reign it in a failed miserably.

“A neutron walks into a bar and orders a drink. He asks the bartender how much he owes, and the bartender says, ‘For you, no charge.’”

A pain stabbed Crowley in the side.He couldn’t tell if it was a stitch from laughing so hard, or something else entirely.Something about an angel and a demon walking into a bookshop…

“A rabbi, a priest, and a Lutheran minister walk into a bar,” Aziraphale continued, apparently on a roll with the damn bar jokes.“The bartender looks up and says, ‘Is this some kind of joke?’”

Crowley choked on his own laughter.It was funny— it was _funny_ , wasn’t it, the two of them getting pissed in a jungle of a bookshop, an angel and a demon and all the inequalities between them—

“I’ve got— I’ve got one,” Crowley wheezed.It was _funny_ , damnit.“Listen, it’s the original bad joke, yeah?Bar joke— bad bar joke—An angel and a demon—”Aziraphale hiccupped into his scotch, perfectly adorable.Somewhere in Crowley’s sodden mind, alarm bells were pealing, but it was _funny_ , so it was _fine_.“An angel and a demon walk into the Garden, and— and the demon thinks, hmm, maybe I should try tempting an angel, that’s— go down well with Downstairs, wouldn’t it— shh, it’s funny, listen—but then the angel says he gave away his bloody flaming sword, and he hopes he did the right thing, and shelters the demon from the rain, and the demon _fell in love_ with him!With an _angel_!”

The laughter burst out of him explosively.He hunched over his knees, nearly howling with it.[20]He didn’t need to breathe, but Satan damn him, he couldn’t catch his breath anyway.

“S-see, it’s— it’s _hilarious_ , isn’t it?” he gasped.“Innit funny, angel?Get it?A demon— haa— and an _angel_ — like a demon could ever deserve— _ha_!”

Aziraphale wasn’t laughing.Why wasn’t he laughing?

Crowley sat up, and the laughter died in his own throat.Aziraphale was staring at him.Really _staring_ , and with clear, wide eyes, bugging out like a fish.  The kind of fish that actually does have eyes, not a fsh.He must have sobered up sometime in the past thirty seconds.

“What?” Crowley asked.The alarm bells were going off louder than ever, but bugger if he knew what they meant.

“What did you say?” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley frowned in concentration.What had he said?Something about a garden… and an angel…

Oh _fuck_.

He sobered instantly.“O-oh, look at the time, I’d better get going, plenty of— gotta take care of the— you know, the plants, they’ll be getting ideas, best to deal with that before—”

He’d made it halfway to the door when a hand clapped firmly around his forearm.He twitched, but Aziraphale didn’t budge with all the strength of an eternal, immovable object.

“Crowley…” Aziraphale said.

Crowley closed his eyes, glad of the sunglasses that shielded at least a part of his expression.“Leave it, angel,” he said casually.“It was just a— ngh.I was only joking.”

“I don’t find it very funny,” Aziraphale said.“Do you?”

Crowley flinched.Why couldn’t Aziraphale just take the out?He didn’t _have_ to stomp all over Crowley’s feelings, _again_.So much for being kind.This might be the cruelest thing the angel had ever done.“Sssseriously, Aziraphale,” he insisted, unable to control his hiss.“I don’t need to hear it.Just let me go.I’ll— I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe.”

Aziraphale’s grip shifted, getting even tighter.For _someone’s_ sake.He was going to _apologise_ , or something equally painful and mortifying. _I’m so sorry I don’t feel the same way_ — Crowley didn’t want to hear it. _Couldn’t_ hear it.

Aziraphale’s other hand rose and touched the arm of Crowley’s sunglasses.Crowley pulled back as far as he could, but Aziraphale didn’t stop reaching for them.

“I always thought,” Aziraphale said, ignoring Crowley’s sputtering.He took the sunglasses off slowly, gently, leaving Crowley without any defence.Crowley turned his head away, his exposed eyes darting around the books, the windows, the shelves, _anywhere_ that wasn’t Aziraphale’s pitying expression.“I always thought,” Aziraphale said again, “that the angel fell in love with the demon, and _that_ was the punchline.That the demon could never, ever love the angel back.”

Crowley’s breath froze in his chest.His eyes shifted toward Aziraphale, cautiously and of their own accord.He must have misheard him.There was no way Aziraphale was saying what Crowley thought he’d said.

Aziraphale smiled sadly at him. “I don’t find that version very funny either,” he said.“Rather painful, actually.”

Maybe he should say something.Clarify what the heaven Aziraphale was talking about, because it just _wasn’t possible_ that Aziraphale loved him back.He’d already gotten his hopes up and had them skewered with a flaming sword, he wasn’t about to make the same bloody mistake.

“I—” he tried, his voice cracking.“I don’t understand—”

“Do you remember during the Blitz, when I was foolish enough to get caught up in a Nazi spy ring?”

Crowley opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded jerkily.

Aziraphale’s expression was impossibly fond, impossibly warm.He couldn’t be thinking of Crowley, not with an expression like that.“We’d been quarrelling, but you came to save me anyway, even though you had to come onto consecrated ground to do it.And then when I forgot about the books, you saved them from the bomb yourself, because you knew I’d be upset if they burned.”

“Aziraphale—”

“That was simultaneously the best moment of my existence, and the worst,” Aziraphale said.He finally released Crowley’s arm, but Crowley could no more move in this moment than he could become an angel again.Aziraphale stepped closer, close enough that Crowley could only look at one part of his face at a time.He settled on the cheekbone as the safest place.“The best because I realised what it was I had been feeling for so very, very long,” Aziraphale continued.“And the worst because my lot— my former lot, I suppose— they always said that demons are the antithesis of all things holy and angelic, the absence of goodness, and love is— love is the holiest thing in the universe.So I thought, of course not, a demon could never feel love, no matter how much I loved him first.”

Crowley felt the word sit heavy on his tongue.Love. _Love?_ Was that it?Was Aziraphale talking about _love_?

Aziraphale searched Crowley’s expression, and something pained flickered in his eyes.“Oh, _Crowley_ ,” he said, and wrapped his arms around him in an embrace.

Crowley froze.His heart, mostly decorative anyway, stopped beating altogether.[21]Aziraphale’s hands burned through his coat, not with the destructive power of divine flames, but softer, quieter, like a warm fire after a long journey through the cold.

In six thousand years, they’d never hugged.The most physical contact between them was an occasional arm around the shoulders (Crowley around Aziraphale’s), on a pat on the elbow (Aziraphale on Crowley’s).What were you meant to do when an angel hugged you, anyway?Hug them _back_?

Aziraphale’s hand shifted to soothe along Crowley’s spine, and Crowley found his body melting quite without permission.His forehead dropped to the angel’s shoulder, and his hands rose to clutch almost desperately at Aziraphale’s coat.

“That’s it, love,” Aziraphale murmured in his ear.

Crowley tightened his hold on Aziraphale’s coat, twisting the fabric in his fists until his knuckles turned white with the tension.He might have been shuddering, or perhaps it was Aziraphale, or both.They were so wrapped around one another that it didn’t matter.

Crowley inhaled deeply.His head spun, more than it had when he’d been drinking.He couldn’t think with Aziraphale so close and saying things that sounded like— that almost—It _sounded like_ Aziraphale just confessed to being in love with Crowley, but if he could just _think_ he might be able to figure out what Aziraphale really meant.Because Aziraphale _couldn’t be_ in love with Crowley, he had six thousand years of evidence that he wasn’t—

“You’ve been reaching for me all this time, haven’t you,” Aziraphale said.“I didn’t understand, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should have realised.I’ve been telling myself for centuries that you’re a demon, that you can’t feel love, and I think it might’ve— might’ve come out a bit like I was looking down on you.Like I thought you didn’t deserve love— but that’s not true, my dear, you deserve love, you do—”

Crowley made a noise was almost a whimper, but couldn’t have been.[22]He was definitely shaking now, and he’d never cried once in his entire existence, but there were tears leaking onto Aziraphale’s shoulder.“Aziraphale—” he mumbled.

“I’m here, love,” Aziraphale whispered, soothing his spine, rocking him gently.“I love you, and I’m right here.”

Crowley sobbed into his shoulder, and it sounded like the words _I love you so much, it’s been so long, you left and I can’t do this without you, how could you possibly love me, I hate you for doing this to me, I love you, I love you_.And Aziraphale kept rocking him, and whispering words that sounded like _I love you, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long, I could never leave you, I need you, I love you_.

Aziraphale loved him.

Aziraphale _loved_ him.

Crowley pressed even closer into his embrace.Eventually, his tears slowed, and it was just the two of them wrapped around each other, hugging as if it was still the end of the world.

Aziraphale sighed.“You should have realised that I’m no better than you,” he said wryly, his voice suspiciously thick.“With how much I hurt you over the years.Pushing you away, and all that.”

Crowley shook his head into the fine, tear-dampened wool of Aziraphale’s coat.“No— it’s not— I didn’t mind, angel.”They both heard the lie in his voice, and neither mentioned it.“I never wanted to hurt you—”

“You never hurt me, Crowley,” Aziraphale said firmly.“Not once.I was the fool, not you.”

“I should have said something—”

“I should have listened better,” Aziraphale interrupted.“You’ve been saying something for years, I was just too scared to listen.”

Crowley tightened his arms around the angel— _his_ angel.His Aziraphale.

They stood in silence for a long while.[23]Crowley relaxed into the hug.He was nearly a pro at this hugging thing now.He could keep doing it for weeks, years, decades, centuries, as long as it was Aziraphale in his arms.

But surely— surely there were _other things_ they could do together now?Humans did all sorts of things when they were In Love.Dates.Holding hands.Kissing.Sex.Cuddling.Living together.Would Aziraphale want any of that?Would _Crowley_?He'd wanted things to change, but now that he thought about it, he hadn’t really considered what the alternative would even _be_.

Humans often married for love, these days, rather than for property reasons.Should he propose?Or was that too modern for Aziraphale?

“What now?” Aziraphale asked in the quiet of the bookshop.

Crowley swallowed.“Erm,” he said.“It’s— ah— we could— ngh—”

Aziraphale pulled away, just enough that he could meet Crowley’s eyes.“Do you— that is, would you like to try— to try kissing?” he asked, flushing endearingly.“I believe that’s what humans often do when they reach this point.”

A laugh burbled in Crowley’s throat, surprising him.“Angel, _nobody_ in the history of the universe has ever gotten to this point,” he said fondly.“Six thousand years of history is longer than the record by five thousand, nine hundred years.”

Aziraphale huffed.“Well,” he said.“Still.Shall we?”

Crowley shrugged, even though his pointless heart was beating much too fast inside his chest.“Might as well try it,” he said.

They leaned forward at the same time, and immediately got it wrong.

“Ouch,” Aziraphale muttered, rubbing where Crowley’s forehead collided with his.“I think— perhaps we ought to tilt— or—”

Crowley turned his head slightly and pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s.

It felt— nice.A little wet.Warm.Not the fireworks that humans sometimes described, but not altogether unpleasant.In fact—

Aziraphale tilted his head and moved his lips slightly, and— oh. _Oh_.That was even nicer, that was— Crowley’s lips parted, his tongue flicking out automatically to taste, and Aziraphale made a sound that— _oh_.That was good, that was so good, especially when Aziraphale’s tongue joined the fun, and his hand drifted down from Crowley’s back, teasing at his hip, at a bit of skin there—

“Hngk,” Crowley panted, pulling away slightly with a smirk.“Are you— are you trying to tempt me, angel?”

Aziraphale returned his smirk with his usual soft smile— but something glinted in his eye, something almost wicked.“Very funny,” he said, and pulled him back in for another kiss.[24]

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

17Not literally, although it was a near thing.Crowley would have volunteered to be one of Hastur’s peons holding a bucket to collect literal shit dripping from the ceiling, if it meant he could avoid Aziraphale rejecting him outright. [ ▲ ]

18He’d done it once, and it caused a fourteen car pileup blocking traffic in both directions. [ ▲ ]

19Somehow, Crowley’s heckling caused a tourist to run past him with shouted, heartfelt thanks when it helped her realise she’d left her purse at a nearby cafe; Aziraphale’s lessons, meanwhile, caused more than one visitor to scurry away from him with alarmed expressions. [ ▲ ]

20If it sounded a little like sobbing, well.Sounds could be deceiving. [ ▲ ]

21Not entirely decorative.Blood itself wasn’t strictly necessary for a demon to function, Downstairs maintained that it was sometimes useful to have a pounding heart to emphasise moments of rage, hatred, etc.Crowley’s mostly pounded and skipped beats when Aziraphale smiled at him. [ ▲ ]

22It absolutely was. [ ▲ ]

23Relative to a human timeframe.For two eternal beings, it was hardly long enough. [ ▲ ]

24Neither of them was in a position to understand the _real_ joke, which went like this: an angel and a demon walk into the Garden, fall instantly in love, but then take six thousand years to do anything about it.The joke, of course, wasn’t on _them_ either, but on God, the Almighty, creator of Heaven and Hell and all the bits in between.After a few thousand years of increasing frustration at watching her favourite angel and demon dance around each other, she had to admit that the joke was actually a little bit funny. [ ▲ ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was super fun to write, and I hope you enjoyed it as well! If you enjoyed this fic, you might also enjoy my original fantasy western series that will begin posting on August 9th. [Check it out!](www.dreamwrought.com)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> Note on the British spellings: I am an American, but it felt sacrilegious to write British slang and phrasing without changing the spelling as well. I did my best, but it's been about seven years since I was in England, and I was never any good at accents anyway. Apologies if there's anything particularly glaring.


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